


Have a Drink On Me

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bar, Beer, Brothers, Business AU, Fluff, Gen, Platonic Relationship, Platonic Sibilings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 15:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Dean and Sam close up Rocky's Bar after an amazing opening night.





	Have a Drink On Me

**Author's Note:**

> For SPN Fluff Bingo 2019, this fills the Business AU square.

“You have to go, Frank, we’re closing.” 

Frank ambled to the door, drunker than a sailor on shore leave. “But it’s only twelve o’clock!” 

Sam pointed to the large digital clock behind the bar. “It’s _two_ o’clock, Frank. That’s a zero, not a one. Gimme your keys, you can come back in the morning.” 

“Fine! See ya, Sammy,” Frank blurted as he slapped his keys into Sam’s palm. “Thanks again, Dean!” He waved over his shoulder towards the bar. 

When the door shut, Sam sighed, relieved that the last of the stragglers had finally gone into the night. 

“That was great!” Glasses clinked as Dean dried them and placed them on the racks behind the bar. “Good crowd, good music, good beer. Couldn’t ask for a better opener.” 

Sam shuffled to a nearby stool and slumped onto it. “Yeah, it was.” A long sigh eased the weight on his shoulders. “I’m just glad it's over.” 

He stared into the middle distance, unseeing. If he were to be honest with Dean, the lead up to the opening night of Rocky's Bar had been complete chaos. Their much-needed kegs from the local brewery had arrived late that morning, and the shipment of hard liquor had arrived a mere two hours before the doors were scheduled to open. And true to their nature, Sam had done all the worrying while Dean had waved off his concerns as he simultaneously piled shit on their plates. Between booking a last-minute band and decorations, Sam had damn near lost his damn mind. 

But Dean had been right. Once the doors had opened, everything had come together and gone off without a hitch. It seemed all of Lawrence had come out to celebrate with the Winchesters; the bar had filled far quicker than either of them had anticipated, and spilled into the street. When the cops had showed up, Sam thought the night doomed only to be met with offers to help control the crowd and direct traffic. 

A heavy glass clunked onto the freshly polished oak bar. Warm amber liquored bubbled into the crystal as Dean upended a hidden bottle of Pappy. He grabbed a second glass and poured an equally generous amount into it, then pushed the glass to Sam. 

Dean hefted his drink as he said, “Thanks, Sammy. You made it all happen.” 

His focus narrowed on the glass as he wrapped his fingers around the cold crystal. “It was your idea, man.” 

He could hear the crestfallen look on Dean's face. “Yeah, but without you, I wouldn't have even known where to start. You were the brains of this whole thing.” 

Sure. He had kept Dean organized the last eight months. “Still, it was your idea. You named the place, designed it, picked out everything from floor to ceiling. It's your bar.” 

“It's our bar,” Dean insisted. “Look at me. Please.” 

Sam peeled his eyes from his glass to find Dean holding not only his drink but a small bag. “It's only called Rocky’s Bar because of copyright issues.” He set the bag on the bar and gave it a push towards him. 

“What is this?” Sam asked. 

“Opening night gift for my business partner.” 

Sam didn't trust Dean's shit-eating grin as far as he could throw him. “I'm… scared.” 

“Oh, c’mon, of what?” Dean scoffed. 

Sam stopped and glared at him over the top of the bag. “Last present you got me was a practical joke. An exploding snake can.” 

Dean looked off to the right as though reliving the moment. “Hah. Yeah. I did. You screamed like—” 

“It was my fortieth birthday, dude!” he interrupted. 

Chastised, Dean looked nothing short of a scolded puppy. “I know. I… didn't have any money to get you anything. I’d put everything I had into the bar by then.” 

Great. Just great. Sam sighed as he spoke. “Look, Dean, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m just… stressed out. Been a rough couple of months, and a rougher week.” 

“It’s fine, I get it.” Dean waved him on to open the bag when Sam stared at him, unconvinced. “Seriously, though, I’m beat and need to get to bed. Open it.” 

With a shake of his head, Sam dug into the bag and grasped an awkward and heavy object. Wrapped in at least a pound of tissue paper, he spent the better part of a minute unburying it to reveal a carved wooden statue of a moose standing nearly a foot tall. Golden lamplight gleamed on its polished surface, highlighting the deep dark grain to a rich burgundy finish. 

“Like I said,” Dean started, “it’s only Rocky's Bar because of copyright issues.” 

There was no use hiding the unbidden tears that rushed down his cheeks. “God dammit, Dean. You didn't have to buy me anything, this must have cost—” 

“Forty bucks.” 

Sam gaped as he looked between Dean and the statue. “How?” 

“The block cost twenty dollars,” Dean said. “I fucked up on the first one. Burned it. Smelled nice.” 

“You? You… carved this?” he stuttered. 

Dean nodded. “Took me all year. Consider it your birthday present. Christmas present, too, since I didn't get you anything for either last year.” 

Beside himself, Sam could hardly think of anything to say. And maybe there were no words, none that could sufficiently encapsulate the way he felt. So instead of babbling an inadequate sentiment of gratitude, he reached to the floor beside his stool and grabbed the bag that sat there. 

“Not that I’m surprised,” he started as he set the bag on the bar. “We had the same idea. Except I don't whittle wood.” 

“That's what she said,” Dean said with a wink. 

“Just open the bag, dude.” 

Dean might as well have stuck his tongue out for the flippant look he shot back at him as he dug into the bag and withdrew a similarly wrapped, oddly shaped item. As Dean tore away the tissue paper and revealed the giant stuffed squirrel, complete with bomber jacket and bespectacled aviator cap, Sam elated in the rapturous joy that widened Dean's smile. 

“Dammit, Sammy, you did enough for me over the last year,” Dean said as he cleared his throat. 

“You always complain about the copyright issue,” he said as he slid from his stool and rounded the end of the bar. He grabbed his moose statue and placed it on an empty shelf in the middle of the back wall below the large sign emblazoned with the bar's name. “Now everyone will understand.” 

Dean hefted the squirrel and placed it beside the moose. A step back granted him the space to marvel at their creation. “Perfect.” 

Sam cocked his head as he regarded the display. If you had asked him fifteen years ago where he’d be today, owning a bar with Dean wouldn’t have even been on his list. But there he stood behind the bar that he and Dean had built from nothing. What a miraculous change of fate. And how lucky, too. If Sam didn't know any better, he’d argue that they had a guardian angel looking down on them.

A loud yawn drew his attention to Dean who stretched as his mouth gaped. “Okay, I’m done.” He shuffled around the end of the bar and grabbed his coat. When he turned back, he asked, “You coming?” 

Sam followed, grabbing his jacket and the keys from the rack behind the bar. “Yeah. Let’s go get some sleep.” 

Shrugged into his coat, Dean headed for the door and pulled it aside. Sam took the first step into the night as he looked back over his shoulder and Dean hit the lights. The electric blue, yellow, and red glow of the FB Beer Company sign filled the bar, and before the door slammed shut, he regarded the shelf behind the rail one more time. 

Bathed in that eerie neon glow, moose and squirrel stood watch like gargoyles over the bar, sentinels on their vigil. The slam of the door punctuated Sam and Dean's departure, plunging the bar into silence but for the electric buzz of the neon sign. The roar of a monstrous motor burst to life only to fade away as it sped into the distance, it's decrescendo receding to nothing. 

Alone they sat, two friends, brothers, a moose and a squirrel on their shelf. 


End file.
